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<title>The Lyricist’s Birthday (Prompt: Lantern) by Hello_Im_not_a_possum</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905087">The Lyricist’s Birthday (Prompt: Lantern)</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Im_not_a_possum/pseuds/Hello_Im_not_a_possum'>Hello_Im_not_a_possum</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hauntober BATIM Prompts [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Bendy and the Ink Machine</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Improper Use of Black Magic, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Poor Jack, The guy doesn't even know he'll live the rest of his life as a walking pun, batim monster au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 01:53:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,016</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26905087</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hello_Im_not_a_possum/pseuds/Hello_Im_not_a_possum</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A simple man who lived a simple life gets caught up in an extraordinary experience.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Hauntober BATIM Prompts [4]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1959598</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Lyricist’s Birthday (Prompt: Lantern)</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    
<p></p><div class="">
  <p>Before Jack Fain became the lyricist for Joey Drew Studios, he led a very simple life.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>For the past thirty-five years, every day, Jack would sit outside and watch the fields grow. Other people would’ve gone mad from boredom had they lived his life, but Jack was content with his job. He’d admit, it was very dull and predictable, but he wasn’t bothered by it, he’d just find entertainment where he could.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Sometimes someone went near his field while whistling up a nice tune, so he’d make up some little jingle to go with it. Other times he’d simply hum to himself while watching the plants grow. He wasn’t as good with the instrumental melody as he was with lyrics, but he wasn’t half bad either.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jack worked at a farm that was near a rural but charming town that bustled with tourists every fall like clockwork. He rarely paid mind to these tourists as he never left the farm. Had his boss not put in a hayride attraction, he’d probably not even know that they existed.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He was a patient man, but even he was bothered by how the rowdier tourists treated his farm. No better than wild rats or crows, they’d steal crops for fun and would make a mess of his boss’s tractor. But as much as he’d love to march over and give them a good talking to, he doubted that they’d listen to him.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>After all, Jack was just a run-of-the-mill normal scarecrow made of straw, sticks, and old clothes. He couldn’t move, he couldn’t talk, and he wasn’t alive.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Until late one night, when some tourist teens stumbled into his field with candles, a pumpkin, some smuggled booze, a knife, and an arcane book that no mortal should take lightly. The old scarecrow’s straw heart sank with dread at the sight of them, especially the candles. He wasn’t made yesterday, he’s seen his fair share of heavy winds, storms, vandalism, and just getting worn down. He got repaired every single time that happened, but he doubted his boss could fix him up if he was a pile of ash.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>But it wasn’t like Jack could voice his concerns to the group who had sat themselves down right in front of him with their candles, their moonshine, and their cut-up pumpkin. All the scarecrow could do was watch in anticipation and pray that he and his field didn’t get set on fire.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Well, at least his wish came half-true.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>One of the teens was chanting something and while making this grand sweeping gesture, knocked one of the candles over. The fire spread quickly, climbing up Jack like a morning glory’s vine, burning up his straw-filled head, burning down his support stick and making him topple over into their circle.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Seemingly sobered up by the looming threat of getting caught, the others in the group quickly stomped out the fire and threw nearby buckets of water on the flames to keep their destruction held down to a minimum. Jack screamed in pain as he desperately tried to extinguish the flames on his body but to no avail. Thinking that they had accidentally set a nosy farmer on fire, the teens screamed, threw their final bucket of water onto Jack, and fled away as fast as they could.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“The nerve of some people...” The scarecrow murmured to himself as he pulled himself up and dusted off the damage. “Who in their right mind just... <em>does</em> stuff like that?! Why, I outta-”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>A bizarre realization slowly sunk into Jack as he stopped shaking his fist at the horizon where the teens fled and instead looked at his hands. They were gnarled, claw-like things that seemed to be made out of wood, but they were as flexible as a pair of human hands were.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He looked down at himself, partly inspecting the damage done to him, partly curious to find out what he looked like. From what he saw, he had some kind of tree-like skeleton and his ‘clothing’ consisted of nothing but a pair of ratty overalls and a dirty red shirt. He curiously touched his new head and accidentally carved out a small piece of it. It took a few seconds of looking at the piece of his head and noticing that the pumpkin was gone before it clicked to him that the cut-up pumpkin was his head now. It was also obvious that he needed more straw stuffed into him, and some new clothes, but that didn’t occur to him in the moment.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“...I’m alive?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He whispered to himself in disbelief. Maybe if he had been brought to life thirty-something years ago, this would’ve made him ecstatic and either run off to see the world or wake up his boss right away with the good news. But being brought out as he was now; a full-grown adult made him feel confused and nervous. The now-living scarecrow tried his best to stay calm about his strange situation, but was undoubtedly lost.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Ooh boy, Ooooooh boy...” He paced around in a circle. “What exactly am I supposed to do now?”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>Jack couldn’t exactly just stay put in the field anymore, he doubted his boss would be too thrilled to see his scarecrow up and walking around, especially when a favorite ghost story among the farm hands was one where a mistreated scarecrow came to life and killed the farmers. But watching the fields was all he knew! Watching the fields and-</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“Music!” He snapped his fingers in realization. “I could leave the farm and become a street musician!”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He might’ve been self-taught but he could still carry a tune. Plus ‘your scarecrow came to life and left to sing on the streets’ is a lot less scary than ‘your scarecrow came to life and burned down your farm’.</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>“This will be something alright.”</p>
</div><div class="">
  <p>He laughed to himself as he made his way through the field he guarded for so long, off to trade his simple farm life for one that would be a hell of a lot more wild than he could’ve ever predicted.</p>
</div>
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